


What Does 'Normal' Even Mean?

by Sparcina



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Fine Butt Appreciation, Grumpy Bones, Hyposprays, M/M, Making Out, POV Alternating, Sword Crossing, The Witcher/Star Trek AOS Crossover, lonesome heroes get together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28941729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparcina/pseuds/Sparcina
Summary: “I’m warning you, I’m not getting on that horse,” Leonard scowled.Of course, nobody ever listened to him.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Leonard "Bones" McCoy
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21
Collections: X-Ship - The Crossover Flash Exchange





	What Does 'Normal' Even Mean?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mixtapestar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixtapestar/gifts).



> *This fic is part of an exchange and has been re-dated for author reveals.

After years of traveling with a voluble bard for a companion, Geralt relished the silence. Don’t mistake him: Jaskier had been as much fun as he’d been trouble. Somedays, Geralt even missed the bard's boisterous spirit. But on this fine quiet morning, on Roach’s back in a quiet forest in a quiet part of Cintra, he was glad to be alone. He’d just earned some coin chasing a madman in a village up north and he planned to do nothing but some casual wandering for the next couple of weeks.

He patted Roach’s robust neck as he cast a satisfied glance around the woods. No trouble in sight. No monster that refused to be killed, no surprise Law of Surprise, no bard in need of a new adventure to sing, nothing but the rustling of leaves and Roach’s occasional snort.

And then the grumpy doctor appeared out of nowhere.

*

Leonard had just been treating James for his thirty-third allergic reaction (of the week) when the ship vanished from around him and a forest replaced it. Dense bushes, emerald-green trees, and not a helpful nurse in sight.

“Great,” he told the local vegetation with a scowl. “That’s just fucking great.”

Raising the hypospray like a knife and wishing it was an actual blade, he began exploring this new disruption to his daily life. Not that there was much predictability in his job, heavens forbid, but there were things he could usually rely on. Like _space_. And Kirk’s antics. And Spock’s wiggly eyebrows. Even the ship breaking down in some capacity was commonplace. And so was a Klingon frontal attack and freaking black holes.

What was _not_ normal was the handsome silver-haired rider dressed in a bloodied chain mail with a freaking sword in hand. Somehow, Leonard doubted this one had wandered off a historical movie set.

And did he mention _blood_?

“What the fuck is this place?” he asked.

The stranger just blinked at him, as though Leonard was the one that stood out like a sore thumb in this forest. Which. Fair enough.

“So.” He realized he was holding himself like his hypospray _was_ a sword and took a careful step back, tucking the hypo in his pocket. It wouldn’t be much help. Unless the other guy was currently experiencing one of five common types of lethal allergies. Which was highly improbably, but then so was his being here.

_Goddamn it._

He tried again: “Where is this place?”

The silver-haired man kept staring at him.

“Cintra.”

Leonard could have hit himself if he didn’t need to keep his hands free to defend himself. What had he been expecting? To stumble upon the only English speaker in Where-The-Fuck-This-Was? For all he knew, the guy was greeting him. Or introducing himself. _Or_ cursing him.

“You’re not from around him,” the rider said.

 _What gave it away?_ Leonard almost snarled, but the sheer relief of being understood made him reconsider his manners. Besides, he was a Southern gentleman, damn it. “I’m not,” he said stiffly. “Is ‘Cintra’ the name of this… country? City? Forest?”

The silver-haired man hopped off his horse with a grace that reminded Leonard of the one dance class that Nyota had given the crew on one of those too rare Alpha shifts when nothing too interesting happened. His sword gleamed brightly as he swirled it around and sheathed it at his back.

And then, he was right into Leonard’s space.

“What the fuck!”

Leonard stumbled back, but the other man caught his arm with a strength that matched his muscular physique. The grip was a tad too strong, but it didn’t _feel_ threatening.

“You’re not from around him,” the silver-haired man said again.

The words were the same, but Leonard sensed a shift in meaning. Unless it was the intrigued gleam in those yellow eyes? Such strange eyes… Beautiful, in a wholly unexpected way.

Leonard yanked his arm back and was relieved he didn’t have to fight too much. His skin itched where the other man had touched him. “I’m from space.”

All that declaration got him was a perplexed frown. Right. Middle Ages vibe here.

He jerked his thumb at the sky. “Up there.”

For an awful second, he was sure the other man was about to hop back on his horse and leave him to die a very ridiculous death, but this day must have been boring for _someone_ so far, because he was invited to follow the handsome stranger instead. 

Leonard dug his feet in the ground as he realized what was about to happen.

“I’m warning you, I’m not getting on that horse,” he scowled.

Of course, nobody ever listened to him.

*

The doctor was being annoying again.

“Get that… thing… off my face!” Geralt growled.

“I would if you just stopped moving, man!”

“I don’t need your help!”

“Well, your blue face says otherwise!”

The doctor - McCoy - was straddling him now, which had only happened because Geralt allowed it. He was much stronger than the human, and he didn’t like to injure other people because he forgot his own strength. One of the numerous burdens of being a Witcher, that strength.

And a keen sense of smell. Which let him know that as much as McCoy foamed at the mouth, he was also very much aroused.

 _Huh_.

Geralt stopped moving long enough for McCoy to stab him in the neck with his needle-from-outer-space.

“Here.” McCoy hurried to stand. “Wasn’t such a hardship, now, was it?”

A smirk danced on Geralt’s lips.

McCoy blushed and stomped away towards Roach. Geralt didn’t get half of what the other man was saying, but it sounded like an interesting string of curses. His smile grew. McCoy was trouble, but Geralt was beginning to enjoy this particular brand of trouble. 

He hopped to his feet with newfound energy.

*

Leonard was glad his foresight was paying off. He’d landed in this world with not one hypospray but three, and he’d used on the Witcher just the day before. His patient had put up a fight, of course. Leonard, who had lots of practice hunting down the captain, had been determined to give the generic, powerful antibiotic to his recalcitrant guide despite knowing that he was far, far outmatched in terms of strength.

Somehow, he’d managed.

That wasn’t all he’d accomplished, though, hence his current predicament.

 _You’re a fool_ , he told himself.

They’d established camp somewhere the Witcher deemed safe. Five seconds after the silver-haired mand had unrolled his sleeping bag, he was asleep.

Leonard was wide awake. There was something about this man from another world that made him nervous in a way that had nothing to do with his current position (lost) and everything to do with the handsome cast of his features, the magnetic appeal of his eyes, and the strength he kept on a leash. They’d traveled long enough by now for Leonard to have figured out that the term ‘Witcher’ meant more than superhuman abilities.

It was a synonym for loneliness. Hardships. A constant fight against your own self.

Leonard could relate, in some ways.

But that wasn’t why he kept staring at his traveling companion instead of trying to contact Jim again. When he fell asleep at last, he dreamt of those strong hands mapping out his body.

*

The sight of McCoy’s shapely butt in his bed wasn’t an unpleasant one. Actually, it was quite appealing.

“Are you going stare at my ass all night or do something with it?” the infuriating man called without turning around, the drawl Geralt kept failing to place heavy with arousal despite the pretend annoyance.

McCoy liked to pretend he didn’t care. And Geralt could tell, because in many ways, the both of them were very much alike. Lone wolves. But even lone wolves enjoyed company sometimes.

He sat at the edge of the bed and leaned into the naked doctor. He didn’t like to talk when he didn’t absolutely need to, and McCoy understood that. They understood each other.

As Geralt knelt behind McCoy and squeezed those pale buttocks in his hands, coaxing a low groan from the other man, he understood what McCoy himself wasn’t saying. When he covered the doctor with his body and pressed open-mouthed kisses to his nape, when McCoy whimpered and writhed under him, Geralt understood that McCoy hadn’t been touched in far too long.

So touch him he did, listening to the litany of his partner’s curses and moans as he acquainted himself with his body. It was a song he’d heard before, except it was different, entrancing, and the way McCoy gasped his name as Geralt entered him was unique. Uniquely arousing.

He caught the doctor’s mouth in a searing kiss, warmth unfurling inside him where he could have sworn only cold remained. McCoy was warm beneath him. Warm around him. He was the fire Geralt hadn’t even known he’d sought to melt the ice inside him.

*

“Bones? Bones!”

“Goddamn it, you don’t need to scream my name so loudly, I hear you,” Leonard grumbled, but he was smiling even as Jim issued orders to the rest of the crew.

“We can’t pinpoint your location just yet, but we’re working on it,” Jim told him. “You’re okay? No one ate you yet?”

The Witcher arched a brow, amusement dancing in his yellow, beautiful eyes. A strand of silver hair stuck to his brow, wet with sweat.

Leonard blushed. He’d done that a lot in the last, er, few days.

“All good,” he said in a strangled voice.

There was a pause on the interdimensional line.

“Bones.” Jim sounded shocked. “Did you get _laid_?”

“Hey, don’t sound so shocked, asshole.” Leonard hung up and tossed the communicator at the foot before rolling to his side, towards the Witcher. _His_ Witcher. “Now,” he said, pitching his voice to the low drawl that never failed to get his lover hot and bothered. “Where were we?”

_The End_


End file.
